


The Spirit of Christmas Futura

by simplifyingforces (vigorousplasmids)



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vigorousplasmids/pseuds/simplifyingforces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In case you were wondering what exactly was going on in Wayne Manor with Damian and Alfred on Christmas Eve during Lil' Gotham #3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spirit of Christmas Futura

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snash (@pilot2bombarder/lightthehalo)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Snash+%28%40pilot2bombarder%2Flightthehalo%29).



> Way late for Christmas, but oh well. Based off of this panel from Lil' Gotham #3: 

“Pennyworth!” echoed a voice that could only be described as shrill from the east wing parlor.

 

“Yes, young Master Damian,” Alfred sighed, setting down the box of ornaments from the attic on the second floor before making his way down to his youngest charge.  He rounded the corner, expecting the worst.  “I do hope your mother’s side of the family hasn’t sent you anything crude.  The assassin-in-a-box you received on your birthday was particularly difficult to remove from the grounds,” he called, shuddering at the memory.  The poor man had been dying from heat exhaustion by the time the package had made it to the manor.  To be frank, he found it odd that the boy’s mother had not realized that the man wouldn’t have been able to fulfill his purpose adequately after traveling for such a distance in a 5x3 foot cardboard box, but it was not for men such as he to question the whims of the rich.

 

“ _Tt_ , Pennyworth, as if my _mother_ would send a gift on _Christmas_.  The Al’Ghuls never bow to such Western imperialist customs,” Damian’s muffled voice huffed from behind a large cardboard box next to the Christmas tree.

 

“Of course not, sir,” Alfred conceded, before continuing, “Master Damian, if I may be so bold.  What the devil are you doing inside that box?”  After a moment of shuffling, Damian’s spiked hair poked out from the open end, his eyes bright with what Alfred hoped was innocent glee, but feared was something else entirely.

 

“Only assembling the greatest present known to man!  I’ll bet that no one else has gotten Father anything as grand.”  Damian’s face twisted into something resembling a grin before resuming its usual scowl.

 

“I’ll need a screwdriver, Pennyworth.  These things don’t come pre-assembled, you know.”  He hesitated before continuing, “ _Ahem_.  As you know, ever since that…incident in the Cave, I have not been allowed to enter without supervision and cannot grab any tools myself.”  He looked up at Alfred with uncharacteristic sheepishness as he spoke.

 

Alfred, remembering that incident very well (and the cleanup involved thereafter), decided it in his best interest to pause in the decorating to grab the screwdriver.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night, after completing the laborious process of hanging the usual 37 wreaths and 24 garlands around the manor, Alfred was ready to relax with a cup of hot tea.  As he made his way back to the parlor with tray in hand, he realized that Damian had been unusually undemanding for the past hour.  Just outside the parlor door, he stopped abruptly at the unmistakable sound of a child imitating a car motor.

 

“Pbbbbbbbt!”

 

“Come along Robin, to the Batmobile!” floated a jolly, low-pitched voice out from behind the door. 

 

After a second, a joyous high-pitched squeak responded, “ _Holy crimefighting, Batman!  You don’t have to tell me twice!_ ”

 

Alfred almost dropped the tray in shock.  He stood outside the door, maximizing powers of stealth Master Bruce could only dream of to allow Damian to play in peace.  After a few moments, however, the young master became suspiciously silent.

 

“……”

 

“PENNYWORTH!  I have been trained by the League of Assassins since birth, which means I can certainly tell when a butler is standing outside the door!”  Alfred sighed resignedly before making his way in.

 

“Master Damian, I do apologize, but--” he stopped short at the sight of the miniature vintage Batmobile in the middle of the parlor.  “My word, Master Damian.  Did you put this together yourself?”

 

Damian’s face both relaxed and reddened at the change in subject before his better instincts could take over.

 

“Who else, Pennyworth?  Did I not tell you that I had procured the most majestic gift for Father?” He paused before continuing, “You do believe he will enjoy it, of course?”  Before Alfred could reply, he continued, “Oh, what am I asking you for?  Of course he will, I know my own father better than anyone, after all.”

 

Alfred looked at him fondly, before responding, “I have no doubt, Master Damian, that he will greatly enjoy this gift from you.  Master Bruce was always partial to the Futura.”  Damian’s face lit up in pride. 

 

“Of course,” Alfred leaned in conspiratorially, “there’s no one to say Robin can’t have a go around with it while Batman’s away.”

 

Damian looked up at him, his gaze sharp and scrutinizing.  “This isn’t a ploy to acquire blackmail on me, is it Pennyworth?” 

 

Alfred soberly shook his head.  “I wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

 

“Well, then,” he looked around excitedly before wrapping a red Christmas blanket around his shoulders, “to the Batmobile!”  He ran and took a seat in the vehicle before turning back to Alfred.

 

“ _Tt_ , Pennyworth.  How on earth are we going to fight any crime if Robin doesn’t come along?”  Alfred raised an eyebrow before placing the tea tray on the furthest surface from the Futura.

 

“I regret to inform you, sir, that these days Robin finds it difficult to fit in the vehicle, but perhaps we could meet at the crime scene?”

 

“That’s the spirit…uh, chum!” Damian replied with a mix of his usual forcefulness and sincerity.  He covered one side of his mouth as he leaned toward Alfred, his grin fierce and joyous as he whispered, “I learned that from Grayson, you know.”

 

“Indeed,” replied Alfred, thinking back to Christmases long ago.  “Holy playdate, it is, sir,” he stated before settling on the floor near the recently labeled cardboard Batcave. 

 

As Damian let out a burst of revving car noises, Alfred smiled.  He always did love Christmas with his boys.


End file.
